


Winter Canvas

by kalewrites



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Reader, Bucky is a flirt, Bucky is also a sweetheart, F/M, Friends to Lovers, May give you unrealistic expectations of men, Short Chapters, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-15 04:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13605840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalewrites/pseuds/kalewrites
Summary: AU where Reader is an Art Major and needs a life model for a major assessment. The catch? It’s gotta be a stranger. Then you gotta remind yourself that it’s just an assignment…right?





	1. The One Where You Go Flat On Your Ass

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies, posting my second drabble series that I just finished over on Tumblr! Chapters are short and sweet. Hope you like it!

“Okay guys, this week’s assessment is a little different.  It’s time to really push yourselves out of your comfort zone. So, I want you use a model that you don’t know. No friends, no family. Feel free to use any medium you’d like, paint, pencil, charcoal etc. Due back in two weeks today.” Your professor quickly marks it down in her diary as she says it, completely oblivious to the havoc her words were having on you.

Someone you don’t know.  The words echo inside your skull.  _Fuck_.

Okay so you weren’t the most social person in the world but still, you could do this. You just had to find someone, no biggie. And then ask them of course… _double fuck_. God, all the talking and socialness, so much effort. Could you just ask Nat to do it? She would make a killer portrait after all. There’s always the chance that you’d be found out and this was 30% of your overall grade. Urgh.

You quickly make your way through the building to your English Lit class. Completely lost in thought, you don’t notice  _him_ until it’s too late. A hulking mass of solid muscle, you collide with him so full-on it knocks you on your ass, literally. Books and paper scatter around you and you scramble around to pick them up

“Shit I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” He bends down to help you gather your things.

You barely glance at him in your hurry to get to class, snatching up bits of paper and books in a slightly frantic fashion, “S’ok. I’m good, sorry too, wasn’t paying attention.”

The last of your things gathered, you scramble to your feet like the ungraceful little duckling you are. As he hands you a few sheets he picked up, you lift your eyes to meet his, a grateful smile already in place and stop dead. He’s gorgeous. Like oh-holy-hell model gorgeous. His hair is long, dark tresses frame his face like even they can’t help but touch him. Bright blue-grey eyes peer at you, a slight frown forming cute wrinkles on his forehead- wait, a frown? That’s when you realise you’re still staring, just standing there in front of him openly gawking, and you cringe at yourself.

“Uh…thanks?” Your voice a little grainy, somehow making it sound like a question.  _What is happening?_  “Thank you.” Firmer this time, like you know it.

He smirks a half smirk, your stomach doing a little dip along the kink of his mouth, “Bucky.” He says, holds out his hand for a handshake like it’s 1955. What? You stare at it a few seconds before your brain catches on, slip your hand into his and stifle the little zing down your spine at the contact.

“Y/N.” You say back, staring now at your still joined hands. Why are his hands so nice? Hands are just hands, right? Wrong. Because here you are, stuck on the look of his hand engulfing yours, the warm niceness of it. Yeah, hands! He clears his throat and it brings you back to eye level, the smirk broadened to the width of his face and he gently slips his hand from yours. You mentally slap yourself in indignation. Sure, he’s hotter than hell but c’mon. You’re not the swoony type.  

“Got somewhere to be, doll?” Jaw-line. Jesus, look at it.

“Actually, yes.” Before you make it any worse, you turn on your heel and hightail it to your next class.


	2. The One Where Nat Has A Point

The door to class is mercifully still opened, allows you a small window of time to sneak in and collapse in your seat, more out of breath than you'd care to admit. Nat, your best friend, gives you a look when you seek her out. You roll your eyes and mouth  _ later  _ then attempt to arrange the mess of paper from your fall, muttering a little as you do, cursing the beautiful stranger for ruining all efforts to keep your school stuff organised. This was your year, you'd promised, that you be adulty. Ha! It lasted about 3 days.

 

Bucky. What kind of name is Bucky anyway?  _ A sexy kind, _ your mind whispers. You smother it with a metaphorical pillow. Traitorous mind. 

 

Class goes relatively smoothly, you manage to reorganise everything plus take all your notes so you count that as a win. Just as your reach the end of the pile, you find a sheet that sticks out, slightly crumpled and torn looking. The handwriting is a scrawled mess, the words barely legible bar one corner of the paper where neat handwriting notes a name and number. Carly, with a little heart next to it. 

 

Carly? Oh. Oh! This was Bucky’s paper. Awesome, great, perfect. Now you needed to have a second conversation with Smirkface McSexy. Maybe this time, you think, you can keep your shit together enough to not actually swoon. I mean, of course he has some girl's number haphazardly written on a random piece of paper like it's no big deal, like numbers really are handed out like pamphlets. You're  absolutely not jealous at all, nope, not one bit. 

 

“Who's Carly? Is she hot?” Nat asks, quirking a signature eyebrow at you as she peers over your shoulder at the paper, unbothered by any social boundaries regarding such things. Nat’s not a fan of boundaries, period. 

 

“Sadly, not mine. I literally ran into someone earlier and must've picked this up by mistake.” You tuck the paper away as you say it, swinging you bag over your shoulder and following Nat out the class.

 

“Too bad. You seem like you need a little Carly right now, purely based on the number of times you've dropped your shit recently.” She laughs and dodges the shove you aim her way. Well, she's not wrong, but still. 

 

“We don't all make it our personal mission to date at least 90% of Campus population before we leave, ya know.” You say, probably only slightly embellishing the number and laugh when all she does is blow you a kiss in response. 

 

“Who’s the someone?” She nods towards the bag where Bucky’s paper is stashed. 

“Uh, some guy. Bucky something.” You tell her, nose wrinkling a bit at the reminder of it. 

 

“Bucky Barnes?” She asks, her tone reaching decibels not yet registered. 

 

“I dunno, Nat. Not like we exchanged birth certificates. He helped me with my stuff, I left.”

 

“Ok, well tell me this. Was he the most gorgeous thing you’d ever seen in your life? Dark hair, amazing blue eyes?” She lists the list like she could go on for days.

 

“That does sound like him actually.” You say, mouth twisting to fight the smile, “Jesus he was something else. I, of  _ course _ , was as awkward as ever. He shook my hand and I stared at it, Nat. Like I’d never seen a fucking hand before!”

 

She laughs, “I'm sure it wasn't that bad. Don’t be so dramatic.” Your eyes roll so hard they almost realign. The irony. 

 

Nat is quiet a minute, and it makes you nervous, her silence always making way to scheming the usually ends up with you in some situation or another. “So, anyways, Clint’s Frat House is throwing a party tonight.” She starts walking backwards away from you, “You're going. No excuses.” Then she's gone before you can think so answer. A party. Great.


	3. The One Where Fat Parties Might Be Sort Of Ok, Maybe

“If you want to leave, let me know okay? You need to be safe, yeah?” Nat tells you, despite the fact that she made you come, she’d never push you too far outside your limits. You nod so she knows you heard, that you won’t leave alone, and glance around the party, sipping your disgusting beer as you go. You see him on the 2nd loop round, laughing at an unheard joke. Bucky. He looks up and catches your eye, a surprised sort of smile on his face, leans in and says something to his friend then makes his way over to you. Cue that stomach dip. 

 

Do better this time, you whisper to yourself. 

 

“Hey. Twice in one day, huh?” He says, leaning against the wall next to you. 

 

“Yeah. My friend is dating Clint, so here we are I guess.” You shrug, stalling with another sip.

 

“You didn’t want to come?” 

 

“Not particularly.” He laughs at your honesty, and it brings him a few inches closer. There it is, that spectacular jaw line. What you wouldn’t give to have some charcoal and a sketchpad right now. 

 

“Parties not your thing?” He leans a bit closer, the music gaining a few points over you.

 

“Not at a Frat house, no.” You answer him, rolling your eyes and smiling when he laughs again. “Well, it’s a bit full-on, y’know?” 

 

“Yeah, I guess so. I was forced to come too, can’t say I’m mad though.” He winks. Goddamn winks. Bastard. 

 

“Oh. Oh, yeah. I have something of yours.” You say, suddenly remembering the paper, grateful that you’d tucked it into your purse for the next time you seen him around campus. He watches you fumble round in it, awkwardly holding it in one hand as you do and nearly tipping it forward as you try to reach the bottom. He snatches it from you, “Here, let me,” moving quick enough that you didn’t notice he’d moved till he already had it and holds it out to you, you smile gratefully and successfully pry the folder paper from the clutches of hell. 

 

“Here.” You thrust the paper in his hands, “This was with my stuff earlier, after...ya know-” You gesture between you.

 

“After you almost cleared me out?” He smirks, opening the paper.

 

“Ha! Says the guy who's basically the equivalent of walking into a brick wall,” you say, scoffing at the thought of you having any sort of gravitational impact on him. “I distinctly remember me on my ass, pal. Not you.” The smirk turns wider, full blown laughing and you notice the little creases of his eyes. Thoughts on pencils and sketchpads. That face. 

 

“I thought your name was Y/N.” He says confused but still laughing all the same. 

 

“It is?” What?

 

He points to the corner of the paper where the infamous Carly scribbled her number.

 

“That’s not me?! And certainly not my number.” You all but screech at him, scrambling at the thought that he thinks you’d be giving out your number to guys after one accidental meeting. Jesus, he sure thinks a lot of himself. “You thought I-  _ Wow _ , steady now Van Wilder.” 

 

“Oh. Ah, ok. My bad. Must be someone else.” He says, and has the decency to look a smidge contrite. A smidge. You laugh until you're sore, and he can’t help but join you if only to ease his own embarrassment. 

 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Moving swiftly on from that, so you don’t like parties. What do you like?” He asks, regaining some composure. 

 

“Uh, well I’m in a committed relationship with Netflix. It’s pretty serious. I’m an Art Major, so there’s that. How about you, Mr Presumptuous?” Your turn to smirk. 

 

“Shit, that’s not gonna go away soon is it. How can I lose the rep?” He asks, chewing on his lip to hide the smirk, again. There it is, the lightbulb idea. Two birds, one stone.

 

“I have an idea. Ever been a life model before?”


	4. The One Where Chess Was Never Your Game Anyway

“So, Bucky Barnes huh?” Tricky redhead. Bringing him up all nice and casual like she didn’t know he was going to be at the party last night.

 

“Don’t play dumb you little shit. A heads up would have been nice.” You say, maybe snarl.

 

“Why? So you could bail? Nuh Uh.” She continues to be unphased by your glares. “Besides, it got you a date right?”

 

“No, not at date! He’s just helping me out with an assignment.” Trying to sound like you don’t like Nats idea better. 

 

“Whatever you say,  _ Carly _ .” Low. Blow. You respond by simply flipping her off, “Well, I'm just saying, he didn't seem to mind that you might be Carly.”

 

You do your best to not enjoy that. 

 

\---

 

“So, should I just strip and strike a pose?” Bucky asks, his mouth twisting at one side as he tries not to laugh. 

 

“Oh my god, No!” You can't even look him in the eye, brain getting lost on not thinking of him naked, “Just sit there.  _ Clothed. _ ” 

 

He enjoys your embarrassment too much, throws another signature wink your way as he loops over to the chair you've placed facing your station. He sits, legs apart but feet closer together, hangs his arms down by his side's and you have a thought.  _ Hands _ . 

 

“Can you maybe just-” You start but then, how do you say this without saying it, “Here, just sit these here, yeah like that.” You continue as you crouch a little and place his hands how you want them, clasped together with his elbows resting on his knees. Hands framing his front like you need so you can justify the time you'll spend on them.

 

“Sure, you got it Doll.” Smirk. Wink. Urgh, he's relentless. Now you're thinking maybe this wasn't such a great idea. Flirtatious bastard. 

 

“Doll? Is that so you don't get the names mixed up?” You fire back, deflection is the strongest weapon in your arsenal after all. 

 

“I'm flattered. You think if have lots of girls?” 

 

“Well judging by the fact that you didn't even notice or remember getting poor Carly's number…” You pause, pretending to think and then deadpan “Yeah, yeah I do.” 

 

“Touchè.” He laughs then bites his lip in a way that's all too distracting. “You think you got me figured out?” 

 

You shrug, intent on fixing your pencils and not on seeing his eyes. “A face like yours? They’re probably falling at your feet.”

 

He says nothing for long enough that you finally relent and glance up. He’s wearing the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen and that's when you realise exactly what you’ve admitted.

 

“You like my face, huh?” Checkmate. 


	5. The One Where Fun-er Is A Thing You Agree With

“I’m bored.” Bucky says, for tenth time maybe. Probably. 

 

“We’ve been here 10 minutes. Could you not?” You roll your eyes,  _ again _ . Child.

 

“Let's play a game!” His eyes a little wider, his smile tripping up your fingers like it always does. Despite having spent a number of hours with him now, it never gets any less. 

 

“Fine, if it’ll keep you quiet for a minute.” Smile. Wink. 

 

“What’s your favorite movie?” Only one? 

 

“This game is an awful lot like a conversation, ya know.” You smudge at the paper with your finger, blending a heavier line across his jaw. 

 

“A game is fun-er.” Fun-er. O-kay. 

 

“More fun.” 

 

“Whatever. Answer the question.” He urges, rolling his at the correction. 

 

“Uh, I don’t know. Probably Star Wars?” You pull an answer from somewhere, too busy with the curve of his neck and the shadow his jaw casts on it. Looking between the paper and his face, urging your brain not to forget why. 

 

This continues for the next 45 mins, Bucky hitting you with question after question, and his answers admittedly are not what you expect. 

 

“Did you do any sports in High School?”

 

You can’t contain the laugh, “No. No, I did not. That’s obvious, no?” A vague gesture down at yourself. He squints at you, confused and then not, scoffs at the comment.

 

“ _ Seriously _ , you look amazing.” Hello butterflies. Goodbye stomach. You clear your throat, and then again, you know, just to be absolutely clear on how awkward you feel. Stellar performance, Y/N. 

 

“I assume you were, what, a football player? Given all the…” You wave at his shoulders and chest area, lingering a little on the latter. You blink a slow blink and look down at the pencil in your hand so you don’t lose any more minutes in the very full, solidness of his shoulders...and chest. Yeah, so not thinking about them. Nah. 

 

He laughs, those crinkles around his eyes making your fingers itch, “Nah, I wasn’t into Sports.” He says, pulls his bottom lip into his mouth like he might think on how to continue, if he’ll elaborate, “My friend Steve, he was pretty sick when we were young. For a long time, actually. So yeah, after he finally got better, he was super into his fitness, wanted to stay healthy and in shape and I guess I just wanted to keep him company.” His smile turns to fondness, maybe even a little wistful. 

 

Yeah, you’d pegged him wrong alright. Surely, in the handing out of personal qualities, one does not simply get this many good ones? How can he be this sweet and loyal, and yet has a face that’s slowly stripping you on any functioning body parts. 

 

“Sure, I’m a little overprotective, but can’t say I mind the effects.” He mimics the way you gestured to him earlier like he  _ knows _ . 

 

Aaaaaaand there's the smirk again. 


	6. The One Where Coffee Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time

You’re working on a paper when Nat bursts into your room, unannounced and uncaring, flops down on your bed like it’s hers. She probably sleeps in it more than you anyway.

 

“So, what’s new? Have you banged Bucky yet?”

 

“Fuck off, Nat. We’re friends, that’s all.”  _ Unfortunately _ .  

 

“Friends now, huh?” 

 

“Yeah, I think so.” You hope,  _ want _ . 

 

“So, you're not still obsessing over his hands then?”

 

“Well, I didn’t say that.” She laughs, gestures in a  _ go on _ kinda way, “Urgh, Natasha. Why am I like this? Actually, no, why is he? He's so perfect he’d rot your fucking teeth.”

 

“I don’t understand why you won't ask him out. He's into you.”

 

“Please. No. Plus, he has a Carly.  _ And  _ if I asked and he said no, then I had to sit there and stare at his stupid, perfect jawline every day until the project is finished. No, thank you.”

 

“First of all, he didn’t even know who Carly was. Secondly, he won’t say no. You practically catch fire when you see him.”

 

“You don’t know that. He could say no.” 

 

“Then he’d be an idiot.” There’s the Look again. 

 

\---

 

“Tell me that second cup of coffee is for me…” Bucky says, leaning against the door frame like it was made to hold him up. 

 

“All yours, pal.” You hold it out to him, feeling that tingle when his fingers brush with yours and trying not to let your toes curl in response. There’s an easy familiarity between you now, the beginnings of a friendship perhaps? Sure, you're still crazy attracted to him, but he’s him and your you, so friends it is. You can do friends. 

 

He sips the coffee, hums low and pleased, eyes closing on the gulp, “I could kiss you.”

 

“Hmmm, I’m sure you say that to all the girls.” You say, scoffing a bit at him and maybe trying not to love it. Reminding yourself he’s just a flirtatious bastard. 

 

“Only you, Y/N. Only you.” 


	7. The One Where ideas Are Terrible, So Terrible

It’s the day. The dreaded day, the one that’s been looming all week and filled your stomach with concrete. The final day with Bucky. Would he still be around once he’s no longer modelling for you? It worries you more than you’d like it to, the past two weeks spent together wedging him so firmly into your life you’ve forgotten how to go without. 

 

If you were being entirely honest with yourself, you could have finished this days ago. Instead, you’d dragged it out till the last possible second. 

 

This was a terrible idea. Awful. 

 

You see, now you didn’t only have the intense physical attraction, now you had real feelings. Or the beginnings of feelings at least. There was a feeling. Maybe two. You’d walked in with your eyes open and your head in denial thinking you were getting out of this unscathed. 

 

“So…” Bucky says, breaking the silence you had somehow inspired, “Do I get to see the finished product today?” 

 

“Umm...maybe.” You respond, barely paying attention thanks to all the over-thinking you were doing. 

 

“Hey, are you okay?” Before you can blink, he’s in front of you, hand reaching out to tuck a wayward strand behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your neck as they do. He’s looking at you all concerned and you’re looking right back, utterly confused. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, m’fine.” You say, try to ignore how you tilted down towards his hand like a goddamn dog wanting to be petted. Jesus, you were weak. “Just a bit distracted today, I’m sorry. What were you saying?” 

 

“Are you sure? You seem a bit...sad.” He says it quietly, like he’s sad for even saying it. “We can finish this another time. You have until Friday, right? Let’s do something else.” 

 

“Something else?” You ask, hesitant but oh so willing, “What sort of something else?”

 

“I have an idea.” There it is again, that smirk. You’re smirk. 


	8. The One Where Bucky Has Hidden Layers

“Um, should we be here?” You ask, looking down the hallways of the hospital ward you're currently following Bucky through. A hospital. Yeah, he’s full of great ideas this one. 

 

“Sure. It’s fine.” He says it like he knows. 

 

“I don’t know Bucky…”

 

“Just trust me, yeah?” He says, rounds his blue eyes on you full force and you do. Stupidly so. 

 

“James!” An older woman greets you both with a warm smile, “Hello handsome, I didn’t know you were down to come in today?” She feels like cookies and sunshine. 

 

“Hey, Peggy. Looking gorgeous as ever.” He winks at you, “I’m not scheduled for today, just thought I would bring a friend by to say hello.”

 

“A friend, huh?” She smiles, a twinkle in her blue eyes and the kind of welcome that just puts you at ease, “Y/N, I assume?” 

 

“Peggy…” Bucky warns, glancing between you like he expects something, a reaction maybe but the point of it has passed you by because your left clueless. 

 

“Don’t you hush me, James Barnes. Now, don’t let me stop you. They’ll be thrilled.” She waves you off with a smile and your left wondering what that was all about but not for long. Bucky grips your hand in his and pulls you forward again. You do your best to ignore the way your heart leaps from your body at the touch of his skin, already obsessed with looking at them, now you know how it feels when they are clasping yours. What little common sense you had left over the man is evaporated on impact.

 

_ Like there was any left.  _

 

You round another corner and he’s opening a door and ushering you inside, met with the force of lots of eyes. Staring. Then, all hell breaks loose. There’s screaming, there’s yelling, some objects are thrown and when you finally catch up you see it.

 

Bucky being attacked by numerous small children, all squealing in delight at his arrival. He feigns being overpowered and falls to the floor in a heap, letting them all pile on top and fight for his affection. You all but melt into a puddle at the sight. Bastard. He’s doing it on purpose, right? 

 

“Ok, ok, ok. Settle down brats. I brought a friend to visit. Everyone, meet Y/N.” He says from under the pile, the purest of joys on his face, “Y/N, meet the brats.” 


	9. The One Where Cute Kids Have Stuff To Say

0

“Y/N!” “Hi!” “Come see my dinosaur!” “No, come play Pirates, YN!” 

 

It's chaos. Small hands grip yours and pull you along, showing you various drawings on the walls, others showing you their beds and tables each decorated appropriately all whilst Bucky watches, the smallest girl Becky perched on his lap, eyes the brightest in the room. 

 

There's a table in the corner of the room, one boy sat at it utterly entranced by his task, crayons working over the paper in front of him. You step between and over the others, tickling and laughing as you go, steadily make you way over and sĺip into the tiny seat beside him.

 

“Hi there, what are you working on?” You ask, and glance down at his paper, seeing the beginnings of a comic strip there. 

 

“Dr Hero.” He says, sidelong glances you like hes sizing you up, “I made him.”

 

“You did? Wow, he sounds pretty awesome.” You say, and then extend our your hand thinking back to that day you bumped into Bucky for the first time, “I’m Y/N.”

 

He slips his small hand into yours and gives you the sweetest smile, “I’m Peter.” 

 

“So, Peter, tell me about Dr Hero…” 

 

“He saves people. Makes the sick go away.” He explains, and it makes your heart melt, “And he shoots lasers from his eyes.” Of course he does. 

 

You sit with Peter a while and let him explain his story, marvelling at the spark in him despite his struggles, the bandages on his chest that peek out of his pyjamas suggest its likely been his heart. Poor kid. Yet, he’s so full and wonderful and vibrant that it’s clear he doesn’t let it affect him in any way. 

 

Your helping him perfect his background landscapes when Bucky comes over, leans in close enough you smell his cologne and smooths a thumb over the paper, nudging he back of your hand as he goes, “This is amazing.” You slow blink down at his hand, fingers spread out on the paper and just  _ take a second _ . 

“Just helping, Peter’s doing the heavy lifting.” You say after longer than necessary, obsessing over the wideness of his palms and wondering how you're here again. Hands. Ha! Who knew?

 

“Hey Bucky?” Peter says, suddenly serious and focused. This kid, man. This kid. Cuteness overload.

 

“Yeah, pal?” He moves so his full attention is on Peter, tucking his legs as he sits on the floor so he's at height.

 

“Is Y/N your girlfriend?” Did you say cute? Terror. Bucky fucking smirks when you fail to hold back the noise that turns into a cough. Maybe more of a choke. 

 

“I’m working on it.” He says, smiles as wide as his face over at you and your stomach drops. 

 

Freefalls straight to your toes and further. 

  
_ Motherfucker _ .


	10. The One Where Bucky Is Sorta Mad At You And Then He's Really Not

“He’s being silly. I’m just his friend, Peter.” You fix Bucky with a look and he has to hide his laugh. 

 

“Oh. Ok, well, we have a dance tomorrow.” He says, looks up at you with wide eyes, “Do you wanna be my date?” 

 

“You know what, I’d be honored.”

\----------------------

 

“So, are you gonna tell him how you feel?” Nat asks as she helps you with your makeup. 

 

“Don't be ridiculous.” You scoff, frown at her and then force yourself to relax and she smoothes out your forehead in response.

 

“You're being an idiot, he's made it fairly obvious dontcha think?”

 

“Making it obvious would be asking me out, Nat. Not the obnoxious flirting.”

 

“Stop pretending you don't enjoy the fuck outta it.” Right. 

 

\------------

 

You'd agreed to go to the dance for Peter, but you can't deny that spending time with Bucky wasn't also a bonus. He'd tried to talk you into letting him pick you up but you'd insisting on meeting him there. Picking you up would have been too much like a date and you had to start protecting your heart from the misery to come. 

 

You stand at the doors, hesitating just a second before going in, ignoring the butterflies threatening to tear free from your stomach.  _ He's just a friend.  _

 

“Y/N? Oh, I'm so glad you could come.” Peggy says as she comes up beside you, radiating the heat and comfort then a perfect stranger surely shouldn't. “Peter will be thrilled. Perhaps a certain Mr Barnes too.” She shoots you a knowing smile and the thought of it warms you to your toes.

 

“Oh I'm sure he's found himself company by now.” You tell her, mouth twisting at the thought of it.

 

“I wouldn't be so sure of that.” With that, she pushes the door open and motions for you to follow, the energy of the dance giving you that boost. 

 

This was good. This was  _ important _ . These kids deserve it.

 

You scan the crowd, mood lifting at the sight of all the kids and their families having such a good time, spotting Peter and a woman sitting at a table on the side of the dancefloor and make your way over.

 

“Y/N!” Peter waves you over when he spots you, his face lighting up like he'd expected to be let down and your heart threatens revolt. _This_ _kid_. 

 

“Peter. You look so handsome.” You say, bend down and fix his little bow tie back into place, then turn to the woman beside him, “Hi there, I'm Y/N. Peters friend.” 

 

“I'm May, Peters Aunt. He's told me all about you. That was kind of you to help him with his comic book.” Her smile is warm, softly grateful. 

 

You look down at Peters face, his innocent happiness glowing out and filling the space around him, “It was my pleasure you say.” And it was. 

 

\-------

 

Peter asks to dance after about 10 minutes, ever the gentleman, he offers you his hand. This god damn kid. You stay on the dance floor however long he wants, picking him up for the slow songs and seeing who can dance the silliest for the fast. 

 

After awhile, you see Peter grin over your shoulder and do a not-so-subtle point. Before you turn, hands grip your waist and spin you, “Can I have this dance?” 

 

You blink slowly and stupidly at him, losing a few minutes on the snugness of his suit across his shoulders and the warmth of his fingers tucked tight against your curves. 

 

Bucky. 

 

Shit. 

 

He looks damn good. 

 

“Y/N?” He nudges you, giving you that look that says you’ve been staring again and he knows exactly why. The quiet smile that follows paves the way for nervous fingers and shaking muscles. 

 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Of course, yes.” You say when you figure out how to, find yourself wrapped up in his arms, your own hands finding purchase on the hardness of his chest, tap-tapping against it just to test the firmness. 

 

“You look beautiful, doll.” His eyes sparkle in a way that has you wondering why they bothered with the cheesy disco ball at all. He has it beat, no competition. 

 

TapTap. 

 

“Hmm, yeah Natasha’s a wizard with makeup.” You say, never really one to accept a compliment and you aren’t about to start now, especially from the talking Jaw-Line here. 

 

“You know, I think you might be the smartest, most oblivious person I’ve ever met.” The smiles gone, replaced by a seriousness that only emphasises the jaw. Good god, the jaw. 

Your steps falter, seeing this seriousness in him, not knowing what you’d done to cause it, “Uh, what do you mean?” It sounds more like a challenge than you’d expected but the tone of him has you worried and it spreads out into your voice. 

 

“You’re gorgeous.” He says, and the flip again has the knee-jerk eye-roll coming out, “That. That right there. You don’t believe me?”

 

“It’s not that...I just, I know your a flirty guy.” 

 

“Yeah, you’re right. I am.” He sounds so done, halts his movements so you standing and no longer dancing, “I am when I’m trying to date a girl.”

 

Well, shit. 

 

Did he? 

 

“Date a girl…” You repeat, blinking up at him like your trying to communicate in morse code. Was that tingling in your left arm?

 

“Yes, specifically you. I’m  _ trying  _ to date you.”

 

“Me?” Ok brain, time to catch up. 

 

“Let's try this another way.” He says gently, hands moving from your waist to your jaw and tipping back so you're forced to meet his eyes, see the warmth in them when he’s saying what he is, “I’d like to kiss you, Y/N.”

 

He glances from your eyes to your lips, the warmth in his eyes turning molten, but waits. It takes a minute for you to figure out what he's waiting for. Welcome back, brain.

 

“Okay.” And just like that, he leans, or you do. Lips meet and collide, pour hot liquid down your throat and straight to your stomach. His lips move fluid, tasting the curve of your bottom lip with a purpose and a meaning that you’d never known lips could have. He goes to pull back but dips in again like he has to, like he can’t help it, a low rumble in his chest that says he’s appreciating it just as much as you are. And oh boy, you sure fucking are.

 

Your fingers ache and you realise how tight you’ve gripped his jacket, clinging on for dear life and because your legs are maybe just a tiny bit wobbly. He pulls back, finally, but stays close with a forehead pressed to yours, his chest huffing that’s mirrored in your own. TapTap.  

 

Wow.

 

Kissing. Who knew?

 

“You’ve ruined me.” He says, voice scratchy like how he might sound in the morning and oh, how sexy he would look in the morning, oh, “You’ve ruined me for every other girl.”

 

You smile at that, a real one that’s not to cover anything, warmed by the thought that it was real and he was real, that he wanted  _ you  _ and that sparks flying was a honest to god thing, “Same, pal.”

 

He laughs at that, tilts back to look at you full, “So, about that date?” 


End file.
